Lucky Pennies and Diamond Blues
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn's going to pop the question...there's just one little problem.    And then that other little problem...    Oh, yeah. And then there's the huge, gigantic problem known as Uncle Jack.    Proposing has never been this complicated.
1. Chapter 1

It should have been a quiet day.

It should have been a quiet week.

It _should_ have been…but the moment Gus saw the website title flash across his computer screen, he somehow knew it was going to be anything but quiet.

"Shawn," he asked, genuinely confused as he looked up from his computer. "Why were you doing an internet search about how to sell your blood?"

"I think the better question is why are you doing an internet search about my internet searches," Shawn shot back, linking his fingers behind his head as he propped his feet up on the desk, grinning in that annoying way he always grinned when he had a secret he thought he wasn't going to share with Gus.

Of course, Burton Guster was not a man who gave up easily.

"You know I always check my history," Gus reminded him, his eyes narrowing skeptically. "If I don't, I might end up with a thousand dollars worth of tuna. Again."

"I told you that was a shipping mistake," Shawn argued. "I thought I was taking an internet poll. I was voting for gross, not ordering one."

"You voted ten times!"

"I really don't like tuna!"

"Whatever," Gus waved his hand through the air in a slicing motion, ending the pointless debate before it got out of hand. "The point is, if I don't check my internet history my credit score will be as bad as…well, as bad as yours. And you still haven't answered my question. Why are you trying to sell your blood?"

"Who said I was trying to sell _my_ blood?" Shawn grinned, dropping his feet to the floor. "You know how I feel about pointy objects."

"Then, whose blood-?" Gus started to ask, his stomach already clenching as the familiar feeling began to wash over him.

Once again, his best friend was about to throw him under the bus.

"No one in particular," Shawn answered cagily. "I'm just a curious person. What can I say? I thirst for knowledge."

"No, you don't," Gus snorted, finding the very idea of Shawn doing research just for fun laughable. At least, it would have been laughable if it wasn't so utterly terrifying. "You're not selling my blood, Shawn."

Shawn gasped in poorly-feigned shock, as if the thought of such an awful thing had never crossed his mind. "Gus! I would never-!"

"Yes, you would."

"Okay, I would," Shawn admitted. "But I haven't."

"Yes, you have," Gus reminded him.

"Not this week," Shawn amended, rolling his eyes, clearing unconcerned with the semantics.

"You're not selling my blood!"

"I don't need to sell much!" Shawn assured him. "I'm almost there."

"Almost where?" Gus wanted to know, his indignation fading once again into curiosity.

Shawn looked both directions to make sure they were really alone, then reached into his desk drawer and pulled something out.

It was a piece of poster board with a large drawing of a police badge on it. Upon closer examination, Gus realized the badge was only half colored in.

"What is it?" he asked.

Shawn sighed. "It's the latest in a long line of torture devices devised by my father, the greatest torturerer since Sir. Martin Van Torture."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I made the mistake of going to him for some advice, man-to-man."

"Why would you do that?" Gus scoffed. "You know that never ends well."

"Because I'm an idiot," Shawn grumbled. "I asked him how I'd know when I was ready to pop the question to Jules."

Gus's eyebrows shot up with sudden interest. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Shawn nodded, running a hand over the back of his neck. "It's no big deal."

"Are you kidding?" Gus scoffed. "This is huge!"

"No," Shawn corrected him sullenly. "It's _almost_ huge."

"Almost?"

Shawn groaned, gesturing helplessly at the poster board police badge. "According to my dad, I'm not ready to propose until I can pay cash for her ring."

"Who pays cash for an engagement ring?" Gus asked.

"I don't know. Something about avoiding interest and credit…you know I zone out when people start talking about numbers."

"That makes sense," Gus agreed thoughtfully, still somewhat confused. "But, come on. What could he possibly do-?"

"Skin me alive and personally see to it that no judge will sign the license," Shawn answered without so much as blinking or pausing to think about it.

Gus stared at him in disbelief. "He said that?"

"Twice."

"That's messed up."

"Try living with him," Shawn groaned. "This is nothing."

"I still don't get the poster board badge."

"It's my saving chart," Shawn explained without much enthusiasm. "He used to make them when I was a kid, too, to force me to save. Leave it to my dad to turn money into a chore. Every time I put some money away, I get to color part of the badge. When the badge is all colored in, I get to propose."

Gus stared at his best friend for a long moment, completely dumbfounded. "Since when have you ever listened to your dad before?" he demanded finally. "Why bother starting now? You're a grown man, Shawn. He can't tell you not to get married."

"Are we talking about the same man?" Shawn snorted. "You have _met_ Henry Spencer, right? The guilt hurricane?"

"He's not that bad."

"The man is making me color through blackmail! I mean, what kind of psycho _does_ that to his own son?"

Gus didn't have an immediate response.

What the heck was could he possibly say?

"I guess he's trying to look out for you," he answered slowly, though he honestly didn't know why he was bothering to try to see the other side of the issue.

"He's just trying to inflict his will on me again," Shawn grumbled. "He doesn't change, Gus. He'll never change. That's why I have to sell your blood."

"You're not selling my blood!"

"Well, I have to do _something!_" Shawn insisted, standing up. "I can't take it anymore! I have to come up with the money fast!"

"Did someone say fast money?" a voice from behind them spoke up.

Both Shawn and Gus whirled around to see who had managed to sneak into the office unnoticed.

Standing in the doorway, grinning the same grin he'd been grinning the last time they saw him, was Jack Spencer.

Before Shawn or Gus could say anything, he took a step into the room, dusting his hat off on his jeans. "It just so happens," he grinned, his eyes sparkling at his nephew. "That I'm an expert in fast money."


	2. Chapter 2

"Uncle Jack!" Shawn exclaimed, as surprised as Gus by the sudden turn of events. "When did you get back into town?"

Gus, however, was not as conversational. He just scowled, clearly not happy to see Jack.

"Aren't there supposed to be warning signs before you get back?" he grumbled spitefully. "Bleeding statues? Crop circles? The four horsemen of the Apocalypse?"

"Ignore Gus," Shawn told his uncle, rolling his eyes as he brushed past his best friend. "He's still bitter about the whole getting tied up, almost being arrested thing."

"No," Gus snapped. "I'm more bitter about the whole leaving us to die and trying to split with the treasure thing."

"Oh, come on, Gus," Jack laughed, clapping the younger man on the back. "You didn't take that personally, did you?"

"Of course I took it personally!" Gus shot back, shaking Jack's hand off. "You were never really looking out for us. You were just in it for yourself."

Jack gasped, clasping both hands dramatically over his heart as if he'd been run through by the sharpest sword. "Gus! That hurts. I'm hurt."

Shawn laughed at his uncle's antics, but Gus remained thoroughly unamused by the entire situation.

"All right," Jack cleared his throat, finally realizing Gus wasn't going let up on this. "It was low. I admit it. I should've stuck around…I messed up. But, you're not seriously going to hold it against me for the rest of my life, are you?"

"Of course not!" Shawn scoffed. "You're Uncle Jack!"

"Yes, I am!" Gus countered, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly.

"He'll get over it," Shawn assured his uncle in a low voice, which he seemed to think Gus couldn't hear despite them being only two feet apart. "He always says he's going to hold it against you for the rest of your life. He's been telling me that since I broke his GI Joe when we were six."

"You still owe me twenty bucks for that," Gus reminded him.

"Where's a six year old supposed to get twenty bucks?" Shawn demanded.

"You're not six anymore!" Gus shot back. "And you still don't have twenty bucks!"

"Yes, I do!" Shawn protested, pointing at the badge poster on the desk. "See? I colored in the twenty dollar section months ago."

"Guys!" Jack clapped, bringing their attention back to him as he plopped his hat back on his head. "Forget the twenty bucks. I'm` not back in town for twenty bucks. Besides, I'm starving. Can we please continue the Who's On First routine somewhere with more food and less glaring?"

"Sure," Shawn agreed immediately. "Come on over to the house. Dad's grilling steaks tonight."

Jack laughed, shifting nervously. "Yeah, Shawny…that's probably not your smartest idea ever. I should probably just lay low for a few days. I don't think my big brother is going to exactly kill the fatted calf for my return this time."

"Only if _you're_ the fatted calf," Gus muttered under his breath.

"What?" Shawn blinked innocently, waving off the concern like a housefly. "You mean because of last time? Are you kidding? He's forgotten all about that. In fact, he was just saying the other day how much he was hoping to see you again soon."

Gus cocked his head curiously, pulling Shawn a few feet away from Jack. "What the heck are you talking about?" he hissed. "Your dad's still furious about last time. And the only time he's ever said he hopes to him again soon is when he was talking about throttling him."

"Of course he's still furious!" Shawn shot back, glancing at his uncle to make sure he couldn't hear. "Uncle Jack almost got us all killed, and he put the truck in danger. I don't think I have to tell you which rates higher on the Henry Spencer Scale of Fury."

"If you know he's going to blow his stack as soon as he sees Jack, what are you doing?" Gus demanded. "Why are you trying to get us all killed?"

"Think about it! If Dad thinks I'm getting caught up in another crazy scheme, he'll finally back off on the whole money thing. Heck, he might even lend me the rest of the money just so I don't end up in jail or dead! It's win-win-win-win-lose. Uncle Jack is the loser."

"You just said there's the possibility of jail and death! Who's the winner when there's the possibility of jail and death?" Gus demanded.

"Me," Shawn shrugged. "I get to teach my dad a lesson."

Gus's eyes narrowed. "You said win-win-win-win. Who's the second winner?"

"Jules. She gets her ring faster, not to mention she gets to marry the coolest guy in Santa Barbara."

"Who's the third winner?" Gus pressed on, ignoring Shawn's obvious hubris for now.

"My dad. He gets to yell at someone who's not me."

"Who's the fourth winner?"

"The children."

"What children?"

Shawn shrugged, as if it didn't really matter. "All the children of the world."

"That's all the winners! I'm not even a winner?" Gus grumbled sullenly. "When do I get to win?"

"If my plan works, I won't have to sell your blood," Shawn pointed out. "If that's not winning, I don't know what is."

Gus was feeling far too stubborn to accept that pat answer, however. His jaw settled firmly as he dug his heels into the floor, not about to budge until he got his way.

"I want to be the first winner."

"You can't be the first winner. _I'm_ the first winner."

"Either I'm the first winner, or you get to go eat dinner with your dad and Uncle Jack alone," Gus threatened seriously. "And you know how Spencer family dinners turn out when you don't have a buffer."

Shawn considered carefully for a moment.

It was true. Without a buffer, none of them would survive long enough for the steaks to cook past medium rare.

For once in his life, Gus had him over a barrel.

Shawn rolled his eyes, huffing in defeat. "Fine," he conceded, counting off on his fingers. "It's a win-win-win-win-win-lose. You're the first winner."

"And Jack is still the loser?" Gus asked cautiously, having been burned by his best friend one time too many to take the concession at face value.

"Of course."

"Fine," Gus nodded finally, bumping Shawn's fist with his own solemnly. "Let's go have dinner."


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, Jack was right.

Henry didn't kill a fitted calf when the three of them walked into the kitchen, though he did look ready to kill _something_. He glanced up almost laconically from the counter, where he was busy chopping carrots for the salad that would serve as a side dish for the steak main course, his eyes immediately locking with his brother's.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Finally, Jack broke the tense silence, as he always did. "Hey, big brother," he greeted cheerfully, walking all the way into the kitchen. "How've you been? Shawny said you finally dragged your old, pathetic ass out of retirement. I always knew you didn't have it in you. The easy life was never your thing."

Slowly, Henry put the knife down on the counter.

Shawn took this as a good sign. At least if there was going to be a bloody homicide, it was going to be more creative than stabbing.

"What are you doing here, Jackie?" Henry asked quietly.

"Having dinner with my nephew and his father," Jack shot back. "What? Is that a crime now?"

"No," Henry admitted coolly. "It's not a crime. Just don't leave me to pick up the pieces again."

"Wow," Jack rolled his eyes, apparently unaffected by the lecture. "From zero to lecture in point seven seconds. That's gotta be a record, even for you."

"He's been working on his lecturing," Shawn added helpfully, doing his best to break the tension as he and Gus followed Jack into the kitchen. "He's a contender for Guilt Heavyweight Champion of the World."

"He's a shoo-in," Jack grinned. "He's said a total of ten words and I already want to kill myself."

Henry ignored the slights, choosing instead to focus his gaze on Gus. "You staying for dinner, Gus?"

Gus nodded, but didn't dare to actually say anything. A lifetime of Spencer family experience had taught him it was best to been seen and not heard at times like this.

Especially if he wanted to actually get some steak, which he did.

Henry returned the nod, gesturing at the refrigerator. "Grab two more steaks, then. Juliet is on her way over."

"Jules is coming?" Shawn gasped, suddenly looking slightly ill. He hadn't factored her into his brilliant plan to annoy his father.

"She's your girlfriend, Shawn," Henry reminded him. "Of course she's coming. I invited her two weeks ago." He aimed a pointed glare at his brother. "Some people like to plan ahead."

"And some people like to wear red, thigh-high fishnet stockings," Jack shot back, shrugging breezily. "Who am I to judge the lifestyle choices other people make?"

Henry didn't even crack a smile at the quip. Jack sighed, reaching for the knife Henry had left on the counter. "Oh, unclench," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, Henry. You need to learn how to lighten up. That's always been your problem. I've always said if you could just pull that stick out of your-"

"Really?" Henry challenged, a single eyebrow arching. "Do you want to get into problems, little brother? Do you want me to break out my list?"

"No," Jack countered. "I wouldn't want you to have a coronary. I'll finish the salad. You go burn something to a black char and pretend it was intentional."

"Shut up, Jackie."

Jack grinned, his eyes gleaming as he sliced into a carrot. "Come on. You know you missed this."

Henry didn't answer. He just took the knife away from his brother and gently placed it back on the counter. "Shawn and Gus can finish the salad," he said finally. "I need you to help me with the steaks."

"Why?" Jack scoffed. "So you can tell me I'm burning meat wrong?"

"I asked nicely once," Henry warned, his eyes narrowing. "You know I'm not going to ask again. Get your ass outside to the grill."

Jack's eyebrow shot up, a perfect mirror of his brother. "Or what?"

"You know what."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Jack crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, come on, Henry. That won't work anymore. I'm not ten."

Almost before the words were out of Jack's mouth, Henry sprang into action. He grabbed Jack's ear between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a sharp yank as he pulled his brother towards the door.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" Jack groaned as he was dragged out of the room helplessly.

Henry stopped a few steps away, though his grip on his brother's ear didn't ease up. "Steaks," he ordered.

Jack grabbed the platter of steaks off the counter.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow," he continued to groan the entire rest of the walk to the back door.

When they were finally alone in the backyard, Henry released his brother's ear.

"Damn, Henry," Jack muttered, rubbing the side of his head. "You promised Mom you'd stop doing that."

"I lied," Henry snapped back. "You should know all about that."

Jack sighed. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry I'm a terrible brother."

"I didn't say you were a terrible brother," Henry pointed out. "You're a fine brother. A lousy uncle, but a fine brother."

"Is that what this is about?" Jack demanded, finally starting to understand. "Shawn?"

"Of course it's about Shawn! What else would it be about?"

"Your truck."

"I don't care about the damn truck."

"Since when?"

"Jack."

Jack sighed, tossing one of the steaks onto the grill and watching the smoke rise into the evening air. "It's not like that this time," he promised quietly. "Really, Henry. No danger. Scout's honor."

"Then, why are you here?"

Jack leaned in closer, his eyes glowing with the familiar excitement of a new hunt. "Remember Tracer Barren?"

"That Prohibition gangster?"

"What am I saying?" Jack smacked his forehead. "Of course you remember him. You went to school together, didn't you?"

"Watch it, Jackie. You have another ear."

"Sorry," Jack grinned, clearly not sorry. "You remember how he was supposed to have a secret vault, right? Like Al Capone. Some underground place where he hid all his loot from the bank heists. Well…I think I know where it is."

Henry looked genuinely confused. "Bank loot? That doesn't really seem up your alley."

"It's not," Jack admitted. "But think about it, Henry. That vault hasn't been touched since Prohibition. It's like a perfectly-preserved time capsule. A time capsule that just so happens to be brimming with cash."

Henry sighed, shaking his head as he added another steak to the grill. "You're never going to change, are you?"

"Nope," Jack grinned proudly.

"Just promise me something, Jackie."

"What?"

Henry smiled palely, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a penny. He tossed it to Jack, who caught it one-handed.

"Leave Shawn out of it this time."

Jack nodded, slipping the penny into his own pocket. "Scout's honor."


End file.
